Renegade
by Tears2Roses
Summary: Dean has lost his best friend, his angel. He's struggling to move on and save people again. Chloe Winchester's mom is dead. She has no one left. She has to hunt down a father that doesn't know she exists. How will Dean react to the fact that he has a daughter he never knew about? Can they defeat the leviathans? And will Dean ever get his angel back?
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

I didn't have time for it. I _couldn't_ grieve. I didn't let myself stop to process the loss of my mother and closest friend. That _thing_ killed her, murdered her right in front of me. I was tied up and gagged on the other end of the dark, foul smelling room. My wrists were bloodied as I squirmed, trying to get free of my bonds. The blood made the ropes slick and they were starting to slip, pulling more skin with them. I didn't flinch at the pain.

He was an ordinary looking man. He had a regular white button up suit and a regular looking blue tie. But this was no man. His black eyes were the tell-tale sign of a demon. He grinned evilly at me, his black eyes trained on me as he held the most important person in my life to his chest, a hand around her throat.

His loud laugh rang loudly in my ears. He was choking my mother, her blue eyes wide and begging for air. Her arm reached out for me and I saw in her eyes that she wasn't scared of dying. No, she was scared for me. _For me. _

I screamed out in agony and helplessness as the demon snapped her neck and she fell, bloody and broken and dead, to the ground. I collapsed against myself, my head falling to my chest. I didn't let myself feel it. In one quick moment, while the demon was still gloating over his latest kill, I slipped my bloody wrists through the ropes and pulled the gag out of my mouth and started the exorcism, my voice loud and strong.

He reached his hand out to psychically slam me against the wall but I was too far. He started choking and gagging, and as he did I darted across the room and grabbed the demon blade he had stolen from my mother and I shoved it into his side, twisting it painfully sideways. I watched as the pain flickered across his face and the black faded from his eyes. He was dead. I pushed his body away from me and crawled to my mother, a sob rising in my throat. I pulled her body into my lap. She was still warm.

I rocked back and forth, crying out at Heaven and Hell and God and angels and demons and whoever would listen. I wept over her body. She was the most important person in my life. The only one I had. My only family. Where would I go now? What would I do? I was too young to hunt on my own, it would be too suspicious for a 17 year old girl to go around chasing mystery deaths and staying in shady motels. I could barely pull off a good cop cover. What was I supposed to do now?

I put that aside as I cleaned up the mess left behind from our latest hunt. I burned what was left of the demon's meat suit and buried the charred remains. I gathered all of our weapons. All of _my_ weapons now.I cleaned up the blood and packed everything back in our car. I carried my mother's body to the nearest cemetery and buried her next to a grave marked Mary Cooper. Same last name as my mother, I could find it later.

I poured gas on her body and dropped a match. I couldn't risk her spirit coming back and I'd have to hunt that down, too. That might be too much for even me. After the fire went down I covered her up with dirt and unceremoniously left.

I drove back to our small apartment, I'd stay there for a few days until the rent was due and then I'd leave. I needed to gather my thoughts and figure out what to do. On the long drive home, a thought occurred to me. I pulled over to the side of the road. I dug through my mother's bag and found her journal. Filled with information about hunts, for future reference, mostly. But she had pictures of us together in it as well, small memories and tokens from her past. I flipped through it and found the picture I needed. It was her when she was my age. Younger, even. She looked beautiful. She was held in the arms of a tall handsome boy, just about her age. He had light brown hair and green eyes. I flipped the picture over.

_Dean Winchester_ was scrawled over the back of it. She'd told me a few times that the boy in this picture was my father. She said he didn't even know about me, they were both so young and he'd moved away before she could tell him and they lost contact. I doubted he looked exactly the same, but this boy, or rather the man he'd become was my only known living family.

I had to find him. What else could I do?


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1**

We'd never talked about what we would do if something happened to the other. It's not like we didn't talk about death. Death was in our job description. Literally. My mother had been a coroner with the Medical Examiner's office where we lived. Yes, by day I went to high school and was a semi-regular teenage girl. By day my mother would work as a coroner, cutting open bodies and performing autopsies. By night, we hunted ghosts and monsters and things that go bump in the night. Well, not _every_ night.

We were "hunters". We hunt the monsters and save lives. But we also kept as normal of a life as we could. We only hunted things that came to our town or those surrounding. Basically, if it was any where near us, we brought it down.

My mother taught me everything she knew about hunting and about autopsying bodies. I knew everything about the human anatomy and about how to kill a shapeshifter. I knew about ghosts and spirits and werewolves and vampires and wendigos and shifters witches and demons. Basically, if there was a monster or creepy crawly out there killing or terrorizing people, I could gank it or at the very least figure out how.

She started out just researching things and finding out how to protect herself. But then things starting showing up and she knew about them, so she couldn't just let people die. So she started hunting. That's when she started keeping a journal. It has a record of every single hunt she and I had ever done. It was filled to the brim with information about how to kill things. For future reference she always says. Said.

My name is Chloe Winchester. Yes, I have my father's surname and for whatever reason the name Winchester gets demons and monsters all tingly inside and I'd been almost killed plenty of times because of it. My mother's name is Allison Cooper. Was. Her name was Allison Cooper.

I was lucky it was the middle of summer, so no one would notice when I disappeared. Well, they'd notice but just think we moved away or something. It wouldn't draw too much attention. When I made it back to our small apartment I parked the car on the street and went straight inside. I didn't bother showering and simply collapsed on the sofa, too exhausted to even make it to my bed.

I wasn't sure how long I slept, but it was a good, black, dreamless sleep. I wish I had slept longer. But no. I had to wake up and face the reality of what had happened. I slowly got up, my entire body in post-hunt pain.

I wobbled to the bathroom and peeled my blood stained clothes off. I'd need to burn those later. For a while I just stood in the shower, watching the blood swirl down the drain. I could tell I was crying. It was almost in a haze. I could tell I was, even though my cheeks were already wet from the shower. It just hurt _so_ much. My mom was the only person I ever really trusted and loved. She was the most important person in my life. My best friend. I didn't have many friends at school. I went to her for everything. Now she was gone.

I stayed in the shower long after it had gone cold. After what seemed like hours later I finally climbed out and got dressed in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. I had a lot of stuff to do. I had to get my mother's stuff together and pack what I would need when I went to find my dear old dad. I wasn't planning on coming back to this place, so I'd have to pack up everything.

I walked in the kitchen and grabbed a beer. My mom never let me have any, but I'd been to enough parties to know just how high my tolerance was. Besides, she wasn't going to need them now. I chugged an entire bottle. Deciding it wasn't strong enough I headed for the cabinet and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey. Oh yeah. That'd be great. I took a swig, enjoying the burn as it slid down my throat.

I went to the stereo and blasted my classic playlist. Queen , Poison, Survivor, Kansas, Aerosmith, all the classics. I blared it and sang along to Don't Stop Me Now by Queen. Queen was one of the few bands my mom actually listened to with me. She liked the classics but she felt I went overboard with it. I was convinced I was born in the wrong decade.

For some reason, I was always drawn to classic and punk rock and I always wore leather and plaid. My mom was into more...girly stuff. She tried dressing me in pink and flowers up until I was five years old and I burned a fluffy pink dress she tried to force me into. Yes. I was literally a five year old pyromaniac. Granted, I really hated that dress.

So she let me pick out my own clothes. Jeans and t-shirts and leather and boots and plaid. I was a tomboy. My mom said I'm the spitting image of my dad, right down to the kind of music I listened to and the way I dressed. I laughed her off. I had my own style. I wasn't about to let some random guy who contributed an X chromosome take credit for that.

I don't know what it was, but my usual playlist of classic rock wasn't enough for me right now. I switched to harder music. Stuff my mom really couldn't stand.

Go To Hell, For Heaven's Sake by Bring Me The Horizon started playing and I jumped up and down to the rhythm, headbanging and singing along. I took swigs of whiskey every now and then, but I was completely into the music.

I had no idea what time it was, but I needed this. Just rocking out to some good music and getting. It was an outlet. Something I inexplicably needed. It wasn't exactly healthy, but it was better than some things. I just lost my mother. How was I supposed to feel?

So I started packing stuff away. I couldn't carry it all in my car, but I already had an idea of what I was going to do with all the excess stuff. I started in the living room, bagging and boxing everything from movies and dvds, to pictures and candles and random little things decorating the room. Just packing away every memory.

Put this in a box, take another swig. Throw that away, another sip of alcohol. It burned my throat and made my brain go kind of fuzzy. It was a good way to forget.

The next few days were like that. Blasting loud rock music and packing and cleaning and drinking. Lots of drinking. But soon, our apartment was no longer a home filled with memories and love, it was all packed away, shoved into boxes in the corner of the living room. It didn't take as long as I thought it would. Or maybe it did an I was too drunk to notice.

I sorted through the rest of my things, tucking the journal into my backpack. It was an old denim thing, but durable and held a lot more than it looked like it could. I'd had this stupid backpack my entire life. My mother always told me it was my dad's and that brought me some sort of comfort. The initials DW are still written in the bottom of it. I tucked the picture of my younger mom and dad into my wallet and finished going through my things. I'd have to start living out of my car and motels and I'd only have what I carried with me.

It was going to be hard, but I knew I could make it. I had to. I had to find my only living family. My dad. I didn't have any other options, even when he didn't know about me. I carried my two bags of clothes to my car, a deep red '67 Bonneville Pontiac. It was a rag top and I loved it. I bought it myself. Well, my mom bought it and it was still technically in her name, but I'd paid her back for it and she was going to officially put the title in my name when I turned 18. She could never do that now.

I loaded the bags into the trunk. I loaded my guitar into the backseat. I couldn't afford my baby to get messed up. Which is why I never brought her on hunts, but now, I didn't have a choice. I refused not leave my precious guitar behind. My guitar and my car were my most prized possessions. The backseat of my car lifted up to reveal a secondary trunk of sorts. It was filled with weapons. Not many, a few pistols and two shotguns and various blades, mostly silver. There was spray paint and sulfur and salt and pentacle charms and holy water; the works. Just about everything one might need to hunt monsters. Well, not actually that much, but enough.

I hired men to move the boxes and furniture from the apartment to an empty storage unit I rented. I used the rest of my mom's money to pay for four months worth of storage. I didn't want to think about if I needed longer than that to find my father.

It took a week and a half, but the apartment was empty an everything was in order. Now the real hunt would begin.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2**

Sam and Dean were hunting a coven of vampires. Missing persons, mutilated cattle, the whole shebang. After questioning several people, it was very obvious that it was vamps. More than one, probably.

All the evidence pointed to their "layer" being in an abandoned house in the middle of a large field. It was open on all side, so it would be difficult to penetrate without being seen. Normally they would need a little extra muscle and they'd pray to Castiel, but after what happened... They didn't even know if he was still alive.

It hurt Dean a lot more than he let on. He barely slept, even though he pretended to and was always sipping from a flask throughout the day and once it turned night, he went to the nearest liquor store or bar and got hammered to forget. Cas was his best friend, and he didn't have many friends to begin with. Sam didn't count.

He lost someone he cared about. Dean was sick and tired of losing the people he loved. Only in the darkest recesses of his mind did he admit that he loved Cas. And he did. So much it scared him.

Armed with machetes and large knives dipped in dead men's blood, and yeah a gun or too because, well you never know, the brothers crept up a small hill. It was daylight and that meant they would all be sleeping. Perfect time to attack. They checked the windows and it looked like they were all passed out in the main room. Very stupid.

They slowly opened the front door, checking for booby traps. There didn't appear to be anyone guarding them. There were only three of them. Not too much, but enough to kill several defenseless humans.

We crept up on them and saw them splattered in blood. Upon closer examination two of them were already beheaded and one was laying on the floor, out of it. Someone probably drugged him with dead man's blood.

Dean kicked him and he started to come to. Dean wanted to know what was going on. Who had gotten to their kill before they had?

The vamp blinked up at Sam and Dean and hissed, fangs sliding out. Dean placed a foot on the his neck. It wasn't really necessary since the guy was so out of it, but Dean needed to show him who was really in control here.

"What happened here?" demanded Sam, holding his machete out next to the vampire's face.

The guy hissed and wheezed, "Attacked.."

"By who?" asked Dean gruffly. "Who got to you before we did?"

"A girl...alone..."

"A girl did this? Alone? No way. Dean, that's crazy," said Sam.

The vamp's eyes widened and he stared at Dean. "You're Dean? Dean Winchester?"

Dean sighed. This happened sometimes, when you were as infamous hunters as they were. Monsters tended to try to kill them more often than other hunters. "What about it?"

"She was...looking...for _you_," said the Vamp slowly. Clearly, whatever he had was worse than dead man's blood; he was dying. That didn't really bother Dean but what the hell caused this to happen? Why hadn't they heard of it?

"For _me_? Why? Who is she?" demanded Dean.

"Just you...not the other. Dean Winchester..."

"Why?!" asked Sam loudly.

"She's been hunting you for...months, she said. Didn't say why..." he said, his breaths getting shallower and shorter.

"Come on, you gotta know more!" said Dean. Who the hell was _hunting _them? No one hunted them. They were the hunters. Just them the vamp's eyes rolled back in his head and he stopped breathing. He was dead.

"Sonuvabitch!" exclaimed Dean, kicking the dead body.

"Woah, calm down, Dean," said Sam.

"What the hell is going on? First that demon in Minnesota said 'she' is looking for me now this?"

Sam patted Dean's arm. "Nothing we haven't dealt with before. Don't worry, man. We'll figure this out."

"I don't know, man. Whoever this is has major skill. I mean, trapping that demon specifically for us to find, then whatever she did to this vamp...I mean have you ever seen anything like that? It wasn't dead man's blood it was something more potent. What the hell is going on lately?"

Dean felt like he was about to crack from the stress. First, Castiel going crazy and then going into that lake and letting those leviathans out. The leviathans alone were a lot to deal with, but the loss of Cas was taking it's toll on Dean. He was normally stronger than this, but he felt like he'd been strong for too long. He needed a drink.

"I know, it's crazy. I've never even heard of anything doing that, not even in the lore. But at least we know for sure that someone's hunting us, so we'll be prepared," Sam said, always the straightforward, logical one.

Dean sighed, knowing he was right, and freaking out about things out of his control wouldn't help anything. What he wouldn't give to have Cas with them. He'd know what was up. He could find this mysterious girl and they'd take care of it and afterwards they'd all have beers and burgers and pie and Dean would get to laugh at Cas's confusion about pop culture references and make fun of him without Cas realizing. Dean missed the angel a lot more than he cared to admit.

"Yeah, man. I guess we should probably get outta here," said Dean finally.

They would deal with this girl when the time came. Cross that bridge when they came to it and all that. Dean just hoped he could deal with whatever it was without his angel.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3**

Chloe Winchester was on month number three. She'd been without her mom for three months and she'd been hunting down her dad for just as long. Apparently, just as my mother had told me, he was a hunter. And a pretty big deal, too. Every vampire or demon or werewolf I encountered and interrogated said the same things.

A: They hated Dean Winchester.

B: They were terrified of him. Well, him _and_ his brother. Apparently I have an uncle. Sam Winchester, dear old dad's younger brother.

Some of the demons babbled about vessels and angels and the apocalypse. I'd never heard of angels being real, but hell. Demons and monsters were, so why not angels? As for the apocalypse, well it hadn't happened yet, so it didn't bother me.

The Winchester brothers moved around too much for me to really find them, but I figured they'd pick up my trail of blood soon enough. And if not, the last demon I interrogated and sent back to hell informed me that I could get ahold of them via a man called Bobby Singer. You could never be too sure about the word of a demon, though. So I would hunt down this Bobby Singer, but I'd be extra cautious. I could be walking into a trap.

That's when I found a hunter. He was older and drunk at a bar and I could tell it was a hunter immediately. I wasn't sure why, but I did. Something about the way he carried himself and how I could tell he had several weapons hidden on his person.

His name was Rufus. And he was hammered off his ass. I hinted that I was a hunter, too and that made him seem a little more friendly toward me. And I threw up the name Bobby Singer. He laughed loudly, not hearing what I actually said and instead responded to the name and went on and on about old war stories, how Bobby was a good buddy of his.

"Oh, old Bobby. I remember this one time..." he slurred, he seemed like he was about to pass out.

"Yeah thats nice, but where can I find him? I need his help with something," I said. Which wasn't completely a lie.

"Watcha need help wiff? I can help."

"I just need to find Bobby. I need his help finding someone," I told him.

"Who? I know lotsa people I could help," he said, slurring. Man he was so drunk he likely wouldn't even remember this conversation.

I hesitated. I think I could tell him. Yeah, I could tell him. He wouldn't remember anyway and he was a happy, drunk old man. "Dean Winchester."

His eyes hardened at the name. "Why ya need to find _him_?"

I hesitated, rolling the words around in my mind for a moment before I said them. "He's family."

Rufus raised an eyebrow but didn't question it. Maybe it was the way I said it. I don't know.

"Well, I was talking to Bobby on the phone the other night and he mentioned that ole Sam and Dean are working a case not far from here. Just a few towns over, actually. Werewolf. You could probably find them there, if you catch them before they leave," he said.

I grinned. This was the closest I'd been in all of three months. I slapped his arm. "Thanks. It means a lot. I gotta go."

He didn't protest at my leaving, simply downed another shot. That was a lot easier than I though it was. Well, if you call hunting down one person for three months easy.

I practically sprinted to my car and peeled out of the driveway. I was almost there. As I drove down the road, I didn't know exactly what I was expecting. For him to take me in? What would I even say when I found him? What would he say? What would he do? Would he even remember my mom after 17 years? I put it all out of my mind. He was the only family I had left. I had to believe that meant something.


End file.
